


You Part the Waters

by poodles



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poodles/pseuds/poodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat works at a shitty little restaraunt frequented by Eridan the rich asshole who leaves extravagant tips as an attempt to woo karkat. It backfires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Today has been unexceptional, the rat-race carries on. Afternoon has rolled around, and you clock in to your second job, tired already from dealing with caffeine-hungry coffee snoots all morning and worn out by the very thought of someone spilling something on you. You clip on your name tag and brace yourself. This table wants a check, that table needs cleaning, everyone over there wants to know why they haven’t gotten their drinks yet. Two waiters running around is really not enough, what a terrible cafe. but people come anyways, bless. Someone spills something on you not half an hour through the shift and some shithead in a cowboy hat laughs. (although he laughs shortly, his guffaw cut off neatly with an efficient dagger of a glance.) That is absolutely it, you are quitting, you will let the electricity bill go unpaid and live off cold canned soup and bread for the rest of your hideous, cocksucking life.

Ha ha, yeah, good, what a funny joke you just made. You are going to hang on to this job with your teeth if you have to. You, one Karkat Vantas, live in a shithole apartment for a blessed pittance of a rent on the wrong end of town, with a million blankets to make up for the failing heater and a cracked hardwood floor that creaks when anything heavier than a spoon makes contact. You live on your own, your meager dish collection consistently dirty in the sink, your clothes tossed in the approximate direction of the sack you should have taken to the laundromat yesterday. You make it by just fine, thank you very much, you always have enough to eat and it’s not like you’ll die if you have to wear a sweater inside. Or two sweaters inside, what’s the difference, really? You make your living working two part time jobs, pulling in shavings more than minimum wage and earning every curled up, flaky morsel of it. Maybe it isn’t the prettiest life, but it is stubbornly yours, and you can work with that.

You duck into the kitchen, wipe down your sleeve the best you can and barrel right back into the fray, pulling out your pen and droning a ‘what can I get you’ for the first needy pinhead who can flag you down.

”Yeah, I’ll have a cup a the minestrone, but no carrots, don’t put carrots in it, and a tuna sandwich with just one pickle,” the guy says, and you sort of want to punch him, or at least shave off the ‘quirky’ dyed streak in his perfectly coiffed hair. It just _screams_ “there’s a reason I’m here alone today”.

Instead, you say, “we can’t take out the carrots, shithead, the soup’s already made.”

He gives you the stink eye, and you know you shouldn’t swear at the customers because they complain and you get warnings, but fuck this guy and fuck warnings. your sleeve is damp and you don’t even think this guy needs glasses, you think he is just wearing frames to look smart. “Make some new soup, sunshine, I’m the customer, I’m always right.”

”Just eat the carrots, they’re good for your eyes,” you say, shifting a little to confirm that there are indeed no lenses in his great honking black frames. they make him look like a douche bag, you wonder if he actually looked in the mirror before stepping outside. God, all of him is terrible, where did he get that shirt, is it honestly satin? It’s bright purple, too, and clashes hideously with his green, stylishly torn jeans. skinny jeans? You think so. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

”I’m allergic to carrots,” skinny jeans says, as though hearing that will enlighten you. You’ll beg his forgiveness for your presumption, and sympathize frantically for the many difficulties with which this terrible disability must plague him. You consider doing just that, because this piece of work deserves it, but you refrain.

”That’s too bad. Do you want the tomato soup or just the sandwich.”

”I want the minestrone,” he says, but he mutters it to himself like he’s been told off and he doesn’t think it’s fair.

”You cannot have,” you say, “the fucking minestrone. I cannot fucking believe you.”

”I can’t fucking believe you’re swearing at me!” Skinny jeans says. “You cocksucking shitface.”

He wants to dance? You can dance. “Don’t give me this maggot-ridden load of unadulterated steaming horseshit, what puddle of putrid-ass fungus did you crawl out of this morning, and next time leave your fuck-awful pisslicking cuntload of hipster cred there.” He looks, to your horror, delighted with you.

”No need to beat around the bush,” he says, looking like he wants to laugh. “Give it to me straight, doc.”

”You want tomato soup, and a tuna sandwich,” you say dryly. What a waste of anger this guy is. Not that that stops you from being angry with him.

”I do not want tomato soup, and I want one pickle on my tuna sandwich. And a coffee. black,” he specifies. You make a mental note to get him none of that.

”Ok,” you say, and you turn to leave. he cranes his neck a little, and is apparently looking at your name tag because you’re dismissed with a

”Thanks… Karkat?”

”Eat my perfumed shit, skinny jeans,” you tell him, and you leave, regrettably catching him call back to you that his name is Eridan. You will try to forget that as fast as possible.

You spend long enough avoiding bringing his food to his table that one of the other waiters does it for you, shooting you a frustrated glance you are well used to. It doesn’t stop skinny jeans from trying to wave you over to the table, though. He dropped his fork, and then he wanted some more water, and all you want him to do is ask for the check.

”Look, jeans, there are other people here,” you tell him, and he ignores your point and asks,

”What’s wrong with my jeans? If you must know, they’re designer.”

”I did not ask, I do not care,” you say. “And if you must know, the run-over-by-a-lawnmower look is not working.”

”Wow, unnecessary,” Eridan says, giving his lips a little pout that is not unattractive. He gestures towards the other side of the restaurant and says, “at least I’m not mr. wild wild west over there.”

You follow his motion and yep, there’s the shithead in the cowboy hat. “Fuck that guy,” you say. “That fucking hat is a mile wide and it makes his head look like a grape.”

”Like a raisin,” Eridan corrects you. “Do you see those wrinkles? I swear to god, if he held his nose and blew, his whole head would inflate like a balloon.” You give a little laugh, and he grins like he’s won the lottery. What an ass.

You are ten kinds of glad to see the back of him when he leaves, dropping a bill in the tip jar on his way out. you are going to fight to the death with your coworker for that specific extra five bucks, unless he just left you a single, in which case you’re going to find out where he lives and burn his house down. You earned that tip fair and square.

You wrestle your way through the rest of the day and don’t think a lot more about Eridan. Skinny jeans. whatever. That is, until you’re closing up shop with Jade. She rifles through the tip jar with a familiar click of coins, counting up the days’ spoils, and laughs. “holy shit.”

”What, someone leave you a phone number?” you ask. It’s happened before. Jade’s basically hot. You’ve considered tapping that. But then you always remember you’re more or less the scum of the earth and go back to your shoebox apartment to sleep for 10 hours.

”Nah, but check it out,” she says, passing you a bill. “That’s a fifty.” You roll your eyes, but you look, and it is a fifty.

”No fucking way,” you say. Jade gives another laugh. “Check again, see if someone left the keys to their penthouse apartment under some nickels.”

”Give it here, I’ll make change from the register to split it,” Jade says, and you hand her the fifty and go for the tip jar to grab a bill you’ll pretend was Eridan’s.

Aaaaaaand, it’s all coins. Hide nor hair of a greasy fiver, or even an old, soft single. Yep. Great. Of course, Mr. designer skinny jeans left a fifty dollar tip. Well, why not? You fucking deserve it. You are a god damn champion, climbing this heaping pile of assholes every day for a couple dollars. Jade hands you 25 and you swipe it from her gladly, nay, triumphantly. She gives you a weird look but you don’t even care.

25 bucks isn’t a huge deal. But it’s nice having any money at all that you didn’t budget meticulously. You feel… pretty ok. You walk into your apartment and want to put on another sweater immediately. Kicking the heater does nothing. You fish an empty can out of the recycling, clean and dry it, and stick a 20 inside it. May it take you a decade, you are going to fix the heating. Tired, but not defeated, you push an old dvd into your laptop and sink down on to your embarrassment of a couch. A spring presses into your shoulder, but you stay still until you’re not 100% sure you’re conscious.


	2. Chapter 2

Eridan's back the next day. You're surprised, and then you tell yourself you're not surprised at all, it's just your luck. He waves at you immediately, and you give him the most tired, apathetic stare you can muster. And he just grins at you like he's got you on a fucking hook. It stretches his face and makes his chin stick out, and rubs you the wrong way. Mister moneybags thinks he's in charge? Skinny jeans is not in charge. Karkat is in charge. Jeans could not be in charge of an ant farm. The ants would break out and crawl all the fuck over his limp noodle arms and he'd scream like a little girl. Satisfied with your imagination, you drag your feet to Eridan's table and offer up a graceful "what can I get you."

"What's good?" he asks you. 

"Our special today is a reuben."

"Is it any good?" He's still prompting you. 

"Just _heavenly._ " 

"Wow," Eridan says, leaning back in his booth with way too much confidence for a man in a woman's shirt, "You are not selling it." 

"I'm getting you the reuben," you say, and you have almost left before he stops you. 

"No, gross, ew, I just want a coffee. Black."

You don't answer him, but you don't order him a reuben either. God, the things you do for this job. 

Jade brings him his coffee, to your vicious joy. It takes five minutes after that for Jade to whisper to you what a stuck up douche he is. It's amazing to hear her rip into him, times like this you wish you weren't literally a gremlin in terms of sex appeal. 

"And get this, he's the jerk who left the fifty yesterday," you tell her, punctuating yourself with a well placed snort. Jade gives you a satisfyingly surprised look, and then, less satisfyingly, says, 

"Karkat, get us another fifty, I'm serious. Mama needs some nice nail polish!" she winks at you. 

"Wow, how about _you_ get us a tip, what am I, your painted whore?" 

"Oh, _Karkat,_ " she groans. She's long since given up taking offense at anything you say, but she'll give you a little reaction to almost anything. "He asked for you like three times, come on, just wait on him. You don't have to _love_ him, just kiss his ass." She laughs again. You're not even listening, you're thinking about your heater and how the occasional outside-the-budget 20 dollars would look beautiful in your little tin can. Which is why you go back to his table to see how he's doing when he waves your way. 

"Garcon!" Eridan says, flourishing his hand. Fuck him. 

"What do you want." 

"To complain about your godawful service, Kar. My coffee needs topping off." 

You give him a prize glare, but magnanimously, you make no comment about the shitty nickname. You bring him the pot, and make a valiant attempt to top off his mug, despite the fact that it looks like he's barely touched it.

"You ever consider some anger management classes or somethin?" Eridan asks. "I mean, at least get a massage. I can recommend a guy. Or, have you ever tried that thing where they put hot rocks all over you? Fuckin' crock, but a good time." You decide then that you hate rich people. 

"No, I have better things to do than lie around jacking it over acupuncture." 

"Aw, no, ew, I hate needles," Eridan says, making a face. "I tried it once anyways, though. Took me three minutes 'fore I was gettin the fuck out a there."

"See, I don't understand how you could go in in the first place. I would pay _not_ to be riddled with pins." 

"haha, well," Eridan says, "I went 'cause a my girl, I mean, we ain't a thing anymore, but i was pretty bent outta shape over her so she said somethin' about wonderin' about the needles, an' I got it in my head that I could go test it for her an' come back an' tell her how it wasn't even hard." 

Oh no. You can feel yourself getting involved. "Wow, what did she say when you couldn't do it? If she dumped you for that, she wasn't any good in the first place." 

"Aw, no, she woulda never done that! She's such a good girl, best girl I ever knew. But I didn't tell her a goddamn thing about the acupuncture, Kar, an' balls if I ever will!" 

"You stayed friends?" 

"She's too sweet to ever let anyone out of her net," Eridan says, stirring his coffee listlessly. "But I mean, that's all fine. I ain't got anymore leftover hopes about her, and it's kinda nice to see her face around." He shrugs, before replacing his thoughtful look with one of theatric suffering. "I could do without her spitty, beanpole boyfriend, though." 

"Take the good with the bad," You tell him. "At least she stuck around." 

Eridan wrinkles his nose at your suggestion, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he say, "That's all good, but I'm back on the market now. Lookin' for someone new, you know?" He wiggles his thick eyebrows at you. He is such a tool, you are not surprised at all that his girlfriend left him.

"Yeah, good luck," you snort. "Try this new thing called tasteful sparsity in hair product." 

"My hair," Eridan says coolly, "is flawless." He glides a hand over his head delicately, as though to prove his point. 

Jade taps you on the shoulder and interrupts your masterpiece of a response. "Karkat," she says. "It's great you want to chat, but we are understaffed and I can't get all these tables myself!" 

Excellent, you think to yourself. Wonderful. That's my ticket out. But you finish putting down Eridan's meticulously styled hairdo before you go, and get sidetracked by telling him exactly why your hair is fine the way it is, and Jade has to come and prod you again. 

You spend the rest of the day appreciating in a new light how douchebag-free the cafe is without Eridan in it. As soon as it's time to close up shop, Jade is at the tip jar, and you wipe down a table, watching her and ready to be justly furious if there's anything less than a 20 tucked in there. But Jade turns towards you and winks, waving a couple bills at you. "Get this- 60!" she says. "Karkat, your new sugar daddy is unbelievable." She laughs and kisses the bills exaggeratedly. 

"He's not my sugar daddy, he's terminally pretentious with too much money and too few friends," you say, coming over to check the tip. "I mean, oh my _god_ , who has _60 bucks_ to blow on a coffee?" 

"More like 60 bucks to blow on your hot ass!" Jade says, with eyebrows and elbow jabs and the works. 

"My gremlin ass, maybe," you say. "Yeah fucking right. Well, help me with the tables, miss gold digger." 

She does, but she keeps talking. "Karkat, there is no way he's not tipping for you. I bet he's flirting. Did he say he's gay? You talked for like an hour." 

"We did not, and with those jeans he is gay and a half," you snort. "But I'm not sure, he was telling me about an ex-girlfriend, and on top of that, I'm not a whore." 

Jade waves the money in front of your face, and you shove her arm aside with irritation. She laughs. "Ok, but he definitely at least needs a friend. And god, no fucking wonder, what an insufferable ass!" 

"He is that," you agree, and you stack the last of the chairs on the tabletops and head back to the kitchen to put away the rags. It's not a stretch of the imagination that Eridan might be lonely, he acts like the world is dying to kiss his ass. You bet it's the money, anyone with that much money has got to buy a significant number of his friends. Ugh, god, he probably has no one to talk to because all his friends just want the perks and hate his ugly mug. 

You leave, and 30 bucks is helium in your pocket. Eridan might be the most awful person you can name off the top of your head, but he is loaded and your apartment is cold, and if he wants to buy one more friend you suppose that you are for sale. 

\---

Like every other day, you are Eridan Ampora, and wow do you ever want that cute waiter at Juney's. You get a little giddy thinking about it. Maybe you can just sort of throw him over your shoulder and take him right outta there, throw him down on the grass somewhere and go to town. You catalogue all the places you'd kiss, and imagine how he'd complain enthusiastically but he'd gradually stop meaning it and then he'd be too busy moaning to be so wordy. Wow, you bet he is a screamer. 

But you're getting ahead of yourself. You are nothing if not a well-bred young man, and you'll woo him properly before fucking him out of his mind. Unless he's into people coming on strong? You've been a right saint so far, you didn't say a thing about his butt. You guess you don't really know how to get under his skin. What a shame. You suppose you will just _have_ to keep on visiting him.

Regardless of how expensive that's going to end up being. Ugh, you can't help yourself, his jeans are so old and ratty, you just want to buy him ten shiny new pairs! Maybe a scarf or two. Take him on a luxury cruise and get him in the hot tub. Maybe get a good smile out of his grumpy maw. You figure there's no escaping it, you're going to spoil him rotten, and he's going to think you're the best of the fuckin' best for being such an amazing, generous soul. You can just tell your dad you ruined your best suit and the money's going towards replacing it.

You whistle to yourself, stepping over the sidewalk cracks playfully, and enjoy the thrill of a shiny new crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope nobody minds that I don't update very quickly, or with very much.


	3. Chapter 3

Eridan has been coming in to the restaurant every day. You have a snug 150$ tucked into your heating repair jar. He is, if possible, an even bigger pain in your ass than you anticipated, but whatever. It's not like the rest of the world is any more considerate towards you. You can suck it up and linger awkwardly around his table if that's what he'll pay you for. You were worried at first that your manager would get on your ass for slacking off, but Jade told him Eridan was like your dying cousin or some shit. You can't believe it, but it worked. So now not only do you have a free pass, but your manager made a get well soon card for him. Eridan said he'd frame it. 

He comes in at more or less the same time every day, and likes his particular table, which you admittedly try to seat people at so that he has to sit somewhere else. He mostly likes to complain about things that don't really matter that much. You gave up trying to tell him to get some perspective, he doesn't seem to grasp the concept. If he has to reschedule at the shooting range then it is a federal fucking issue. (You think shooting ranges are cool, but on him it's pretentious. You told him so.) He pours blame on to managers and assistants and secretaries for his minor inconveniences, and he has explained to you in detail how he could commit at least five different murders without getting caught, if he wasn't "a fuckin angel of a guy". 

"Oh _noooo_ ," you say. "I'd better not spill any coffee on Mr. Ampora, he might go home and write in his diary about how he's going to pretend to kill me." 

"I might go ahead and pretend to off you just for bein so snarky, kar," he says, wagging his finger at you. He stops to sip his coffee. He ordered it black, but you put a shitload of sugar in it because he doesn't drink it otherwise. 

Your favorite part of the conversation is when you inevitably judge everyone around you. Anyone in the restaurant is fair game. Sometimes you just help Eridan rag on whoever he hates today. Yesterday you overheard a man who clearly deserved it get dumped on your way to work, and you immediately put the memory in the bank to keep for Eridan. So many people are colossal wastes of carbon, and you feel it is your personal mission to pinpoint exactly in what ways they could be improved upon. If a self-important asshat with daddy's plastic wants to help, you are on board. 

So you guess the arrangement is ok, all things considered. 

\---

It's late on a monday and two hours after you were expecting Eridan. Which is fine. Great, really, not like you need his ugly mug clouding your view. You take a look around at the other patrons of the great establishment you serve, and change your mind. You'd take even his face over this grisly mess. Jade catches you scanning the cafe and gives you a look she probably thinks is knowing. Fuck her, you wish you had called in sick today. 

An hour later and probably years after you gave up on him, Eridan takes it upon himself to grace your dingy workplace with his shitty glutes. Thank god, you are bored out of your tiny mind. He's got on a dress shirt and jacket, which don't look half bad--you hope he tips his tailor half as well as he tips you. (You know he has a tailor, at this point you probably know more about him than he does.) You guess he had some fancy event he had to go to, that's probably what held him up. He sits down, you tell him the table he chose is reserved, and he tells you to fuck off because he can have any table he wants. It feels like relief. 

He keeps you in conversation until Jade finally intervenes, but he doesn't leave once you're ignoring him. That's new. You get ready to chew him out over expecting more of your time than he is going to get, but he takes out a magazine and half an hour later, orders another coffee. He stays all night, reading and scribbling in a notebook, sipping drinks and texting. 

You tell him to get out when it's time to close up shop. He says "Aw, Kar, I'm not in the way or anythin, just work around me," and you decide you don't care enough and leave him stirring the remains of a last decaf to grab a rag from the kitchen. Jade is in the back, taking off her apron. 

"Karkat, can you take care of closing up for me?" She says, with this shit eating grin that you don't know what to make of. "I have somewhere to be." 

"No you fucking don't," you tell her, but she's already punching you lightly on the arm and clocking out. Whatever. It's not like you don't owe her big time for the accumulated hours of waiting tables more or less on her own. You let her go with just a begrudging good night. 

Eridan waits around, watching you stack the chairs and sweep the floor. It's uncomfortably quiet, you think, the soft scraping of the broom and a muffled thrum of distant cars filling the room. After a minute more you can't excuse sweeping any more of the spotless floor, and you leave to put away the broom. When you come back, Eridan is sitting on top of one of the tables. 

"So what, did-" you begin, and Eridan says "Hey, Kar," at the same time. You consider assuming he did it to be difficult, but you can't convince yourself and let it drop. "What," you say, instead. 

"I've been thinkin," he says, and he has this look he gets sometimes when he talks about his ex. Oh, boy. You see where this is headed. You are ready to bet he wants to talk about trying to getting her back, which as far as you can tell is invade-russia-in-winter levels of bad idea. If he has been sitting here all evening stirring his coffee to that stroke of brilliance, then you are going to need to hunker down to force his mind the other way. Thank god he came to you. 

So you prompt him by coming to stand next to him. Sufficiently prompted, he continues. "I've been thinkin', I've been awfully lonely since my girl left. I'm not meant to be on my own, Kar, I got a lot of love to give." 

"Right, ok," you say. "Stop there." He stops, looking slightly wounded by your interruption, but he is only going to hurt himself if you let him continue. "What happened to 'that ship has sailed', Eridan?" 

"Well, uh," He says slowly. "I, uh, has it?" 

"Great flaming shitsacks, you whiny curd, half of the things I've heard you say have been about Feferi's new boyfriend, and how in love they are. That's a literal statistical fact. Scientists have published it in journals: 'Five out of ten words Eridan says relate back to how he is 'never, ever, ever, getting back together' with his ex. More on page Three.' Four out of five doctors say Eridan, get your head out of your ass." Nailed it. 

But Eridan is just knitting his eyebrows at you like you sprouted horns. "Is this going right over your head?" you say, as patronizing as possible. Nothing like being grouchy and mean to help a friend. You mean an asshole. 

"Kar, I know I'm not gettin Fef back," Eridan says, and his features smooth out as he relaxes into a smile. He also takes one of your hands. 

Oh. 

Ok. You feel really fucking stupid for a second, and then really fucking weird for longer than that. You should stop him before he says anything, if this is going where you now think it is going. But, you reason, it's better if you let him say it. God, he is holding your hand with both of his. They are so soft. Like the silken tears of moonlight angel babies. Or something. Ok, fuck, he is looking straight into your eyes. His are beautiful and glinting like immaculately cut gemstones. Should you look away? You don't. You notice his eyelashes instead. God help you.

"But you know, I was thinkin it was maybe time I had someone else in my life, romantically speakin." Eridan continues. "An' I met someone I think might fit the bill." 

He pauses, and he's still looking straight at you, and so you say, "Oh," and it sounds really small and your mouth is really dry. You wonder if he wants you to say something else, but he pushes himself off the table to stand next to you before you can come up with something eloquent. 

"Kar," he says, "I think you're somethin really special." 

Now he is definitely waiting for you to say something. You wet your lips and swallow and generally prep yourself to tell him to scram, or maybe to turn him down gently because maybe right now is not the best time to be blunt. But after a couple stretched-thin seconds, when you haven't said anything, he starts pulling on your hand again and leaning towards you and ok he is going to kiss you mayday mayday 

But you don't do anything to stop him, and kiss him instead. Probably because of his baby soft fucking hands. He smells like a body, in a really good way, and not as much like perfume as you thought he would. His lips are very thin and too dry, but they are as soft as his hands. It's been too long since anybody kissed you. And even though you don't blame them, you wouldn't kiss you either, the attention you're getting now is magic. Maybe it won't kill you to just say yes. Let Eridan kiss you every day. Go on dates, wine and dine, spend a night on the couch watching TV, and sleep under a blanket with his naked body curled around yours. He lets go of your hand and brings his thumbs up to brush your cheeks. You let your hands creep around to rest at the small of his back. You feel good.

He's grinning like a sunset when he pulls away from you, and it stretches his face and makes his chin stick out, but you like it. You're kind of surprised, but you do. 

"Kar, I am the luckiest fuckin guy in the world tonight," he says. You feel a little lightheaded about the whole thing, but the compliment settles warmly on your shoulders. "I have to run tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow. The usual time." He winks at you, still beaming. 

And then he slips a bill into your hand. 

Oh.

"Keep bein the best of the fuckin best, beautiful," he says, adding a peck on your lips, before he dances out the door. 

Alone in the cafe, chairs stacked up like skeletons, you unfold your hand and take a look at 80 bucks in crisp new bills. You feel very heavy. Your entire chest is compacting itself. Lungs, heart, ribs and muscle waging war for the center of you. He payed you. Right, of course, you for-fucking- _got_ , you're his _fucking_ employee. Hilarious, Karkat, did you think he was in fairy-tale-true love with you? You are his friend for hire. _boy_ friend for fucking hire, apparently, and thinking it makes you realize how disgusting it is. Is he serious? Does he think you are going to be his little fucking _prostitute_? 

And you do what you do best, you take your pain and you force it through a funnel, straight into anger. Flaming, fuming anger, at Eridan, at your job, at your apartment, and a great heaping portion at yourself. 

Because fuck you for thinking that maybe, this time, you could have something good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok yeah sorry i took a month to write 2000 words. I'll try to be better about the next chapter HAHA NO APRIL FOOLS I'm going to be a little shit about it.
> 
> also wow smooches for everyone who left me a comment! I'm serious i love all of them individually wow they absolutely made the respective days I received them on.


	4. Chapter 4

You come in to work bone tired and resigned. You spent last night in a furious, pacing rage, money jar in hand, poised to throw it out a window. You threw several things many places. But in the end you just tucked the jar back in a drawer. It's good money. And it's painfully obvious to you that if you hadn't been stupid enough to think Eridan wanted an actual relationship with you, you wouldn't care nearly this much. You should have expected this, really. You're not exactly a catch. He wouldn't be gung-ho about dating you unless you had to act like he wanted you to act. 

Not like you're going to keep this whole thing up. You drag your feet along the cafe's wood paneling, running through ways to tell Eridan how thoroughly disinterested you are in his continued company. Most of the scenarios you imagine are pretty brutal, you're satisfied to say. Plenty of clever annihilating verbal daggers. Jade arrives, and immediately asks what's up. 

"Eridan kissed me," you tell her, because you figure it more or less sums up the situation. 

"Is it a bad thing?" She asks, like a complete jackass.

"Of course it's a fucking bad thing!" You say, "Or did you not hear? Eridan kissed me!" 

"Does he have mouth herpes?" Jade asks, and you realize you are going to have to dumb this down for her. 

"No, he's just a giant turd," you say. "He tipped me for the kiss." 

"How much?" 

"Stop right the fuck there, asswipe, and rewind to the part where he payed me for a kiss. Do I come off like a gigolo to you, too? What, do I just _look_ like I sell my body? Is it my eyes? Should I get a new haircut? Please, Jade, tell me, because I am at my wit's end with all these fuckers on the street asking me _how much._ " 

"Oh, _Karkat,_ " Jade says, and she is not being nearly as sympathetic to your troubles as she needs to be. Immediately. "Get your head out of your ass, Eridan has been flirting with you like mad, all week. If you didn't want him to go for the gold, you should have given him some signals or something. Like, you know, not letting him kiss you." 

This is too uncomfortably close to home, so instead of saying something useful to your cause, you say, "Signals? That's dumb."

Jade ignores you. "Can't you just go out with him?" She says. "Like actually date him? Then nobody pays anybody and mr moneybags gets to kiss someone."

How fucking dare she. "Ha, ha, and oh, let me think, _ha!_ " You spit the words at her, as though they could burn. Jade just looks at you, and you're all the angrier for it. 

"Look," she says, "I get if you just can't do it, but give yourself a break. Kicking it with Eridan all week hasn't exactly killed you, Karkat, don't shit yourself that you hate it. Let Eridan be your sugar daddy! Dole out the smooches. Bring in the tips." 

"Wow, ok, Jade, yeah, maybe I will do that, right after I go dedicate my life to building toothpick models of famous architecture and invent a cure for cancer."

"Ok, I'm going to pretend that's an actual yes, because I want a little extra cash for a trip to the mountains this weekend!" Jade winks at you. She is being way more cheerful way faster than you want her to be. You think, in light of events, she should have to remain solemn for at least 30 seconds after this conversation has finished. Out of respect for the thoroughly wronged. 

But as customers begin to trickle into the restaurant, you begin to burn out. Eridan was always a little too friendly with you, and looking back you're beginning to hate that you didn't realize he was angling for something other than a casual friendship. God, he probably thought you were expecting it. And oh fucking shit, since you had no sordid idea, he probably just thought you were on board. All that utter fucking bull he spouted last night must have just been ceremony, as far as he was concerned there were no roadblocks to overcome. It's not as if he's ravaged your virgin flesh. It was an embarrassingly consensual kiss. If Jade's right, which you refuse to yet verify because Jade is a little shit and does not deserve it, then you are making a big fucking deal out of what everyone else thinks is almost nothing. You're just angry because your little baby fucking feelings got hurt. 

By the time Eridan shows up, you've been over the situation so many times that you actually don't know what to do anymore. You're not even mad. You feel stupid. You'll just… tell him no, you guess. That the kiss was a mistake, you're not comfortable being a commodity, and you're going to call the whole thing off. Thanks, but no thanks. Then you can go home and eat a pint of ben and jerry's and feel sorry for yourself like a man. 

When he does come in, you are instantly and shockingly as unhappy as you think you have ever been. It's a little surprising to you that Eridan looks so entirely at ease, but you guess from his point of view everything is fine. He beams at you and tries to catch your eye, while you tie your insides into magnificently complicated knots. God, shit, everything seemed almost manageable until he was actually here, and now you feel like you're probably going to die. Your heart will seize up and stop, you will have a short obituary in the newspaper, 'small man dies in unremarkable circumstance.' You hope Jade cries. You'll write in your will that if she does not cry she gets nothing. 

Unable to distract yourself further, you pull your lead feet around to Eridan's table. And he says "Hi, Kar," Grinning from ear to ear like he's sharing an inside joke with you. You guess this whole situation would be a joke if it weren't so abysmally not funny. 

"Hi, Eridan," You say. What you meant to say was, 'let's never kiss again, ever,' but that seems to be lodged somewhere in your windpipe. Everything is awful. Eridan is smiling up at you in the sappiest way, and you wonder how upset he'll actually be when you tell him you're backing out. You know, logically, that he'll pout because he's not getting what he wants, and then find someone else to keep him company. He'll move on and you'll move on, and you'll be out a new heater. But he asks how your morning was like you're something special. You Imagine his smile snuffing out like a candle, and it's not nearly as validating as it was some hours earlier. Instead it's crappy. You're crappy. You should have had your head screwed on last night. Now you are screwing up your nerves like you have stage fright, and nothing is coming out of your mouth except "My morning was shitty." 

"All your mornings are shitty," Eridan tells you. "Well, in case you were wonderin', mine was a dream, all that was missin' was comin' to see you." 

"Well, you know where to find me," You say, and then you hate yourself a little more for saying it. But fuck him for being horribly sweet, you can't believe he gets off on this. You can't believe YOU get off on this. Ok, time to not be talking to Eridan. "I'll bring you your coffee in a bit," You say, and shuffle off before you can be stopped. 

You can't believe yourself, you cannot believe yourself. What was that? Where was the rational discussion about how you are not going to be a weird cafe whore? Out the window, jerking it on the lawn is where that discussion was! _Well,_ you think traitorously, _my apartment is cold as tits, isn't it?_ No, oh fuck. You can't do this. You duck in to the kitchen to take a few breaths, and when you come out, Jade is watching you from across the room. She sees you looking and gives you a shrug. Your move. You know what she thinks you should do. You know you should not do what she thinks you should do. You also know what you are going to do. 

You are going to be Eridan's weird cafe whore. 

\---

You watch Karkat from across the restaurant. It sends a little thrill down your back that he doesn't even have to ask your order to know what you want. You admit you didn't think he'd be so shy, but like everything about him, it is a joy to find out. Time for him to get over his nerves, though, because you want him over here paying you attention. You wave for him.

God, you feel so alive! You can't stop tapping your foot, you wish you had your coffee to stir. Karkat finally turns his head towards you and gives you a grumpy wave back, and it's so comfortably Karkat, you think you just fell a little more in love. You thought you loved him yesterday, but clearly you were wrong, because _this_ is love. You consider buying him a really nice ring, you think he'd look good in jewelry. In your jewelry, specifically. 

A million years later, Karkat _finally_ comes around with your coffee. It's milky as anything, and probably sweet enough to melt your teeth. You fucking love it. Bless. He never even called you out on the black coffee, just started sweetening it. Not that you can't choke down a cup of black coffee at gunpoint, but let's be real here, who would voluntarily put that tar in their mouths, it's foul and you hate it. Karkat has saved both your dignity and your tastebuds. He is a hero. You flash him the most charming smile you have.

"So are you gonna sit down?" You ask, gesturing at the seat across from you. Karkat glances over towards the other waitress, the mean one who needs detangler. "Come on," you say, "Who needs you more, the restaurant or me?" You look as cute as you can. You think it works, because he says 

"God help us all, I bet it's you, you incompetent ass. If I left you alone you would swallow your spoon and choke to death. It would be a tragic and humiliating for everyone. 'Why, oh why didn't you sit with him,' people would beg me, and I would have to explain that I had vastly overestimated how able to be a normal human being you are." 

"Charmin'," you tell him, and even though you say it sarcastically you do mean it. Because you're pretty sure what he actually means when he talks too much is that he likes you. He sits down to talk, and ok, here goes, you are dating now, he is your actual boyfriend, you are going to do this and he is going to love it. How could he not, he is a huge romantic sap. You take his hand across the table and rest it in your own as you talk. Karkat's face colors like you flipped a switch. Bingo. 

\---

Three days later, you are Eridan Ampora and you're not entirely sure things are as perfect as you thought they were. You admit, you thought Karkat would warm up to you faster than has been happening. It's sweet as anything to be shy, and catching Karkat off guard is its own reward, but you wish he'd give you a little more to work with. You are a grown man and you have needs, and as much as you love holding hands, you'd like to put your hands a couple other places. Is that moving too fast? With how frigid Karkat has been, you're pretty sure it is. Well, baby steps. You sigh into the receiver of your cell phone, listening to your friend's phone ring. She had better be doing something incredibly important, you are pretty sure you have a crisis here. 

A million years later, Kanaya picks up. "Eridan," She greets you. 

"Hey, Kan," you say, "What took you so long?" 

"My apologies, I forgot you are my top priority, out of all the things everywhere that I can think of." 

"Yeah, well, I guess I can forgive you," you say. You have no time for her sass. Only time for your very important feelings. 

"What's the matter?" She asks. 

"Nothin'," you say, "why? Do I sound upset?" 

"You are always upset, do us both a favor, tell me what's the matter." 

You sigh deeply into your phone, and sink lower onto your couch. "I can't get anythin' from Karkat. I think he probably hates me." 

"That's your waiter boy-toy?"

"My dramatically handsome part time waiter part time stud boyfriend, yeah." 

"Not a very common name, is it?" 

"Well he's not a very common sort a guy, is he, Kan," you say, a little sharper than you meant, but she is off topic and not responding to your self deprecation. 

"Yes, all right. What are you not getting? Is he not complimenting your hair. Because I could fix that for you." 

"You'll never get your hands on my luscious locks, you witch, and yes granted he doesn't do a whole lotta complimentin' in a conventional sort a way, but I'm learnin' and I think I've figured out when he actually hates what I'm wearin' and when he's pretendin' to hate what I'm wearin'. But that's beside the point. I'm tryin' to tell you, he's just bein' so shy! I don't know how to warm him up." 

"Does the cafe have an oven in the back?" 

"I'm serious, Kan, I'll up an' die if he leaves me, it's awful."

"I am pretty sure you are just being dramatic." 

"Why would you say that, I would _never,_ " you lie. "In all seriousness, though, kan, he won't even kiss me. I'm goin' crazy, cross my heart."

"You don't kiss? You told me you kissed. I've heard in detail about several kisses." 

"Well yeah I mean he kisses me when I kiss him, if I stay until closin' he gets pretty into it, too. Last night--" 

Kanaya cuts you off with "have you taken him out? Maybe he just doesn't want to be unprofessional on the job." 

You haven't. But… "I dunno, Kan, he's still a little distant even when he's closin' up… and I kinda wanted to see if he'd ask me first, you know? But I figured then I'd take over the plan a the night because I want to take him somewhere nice. Did I tell you he's only had sushi out a those plastic containers at the supermarket? I'll take him out to sushi." 

"I'm sure he'll swoon into your arms at the mention," Kanaya says. You imagine it, and suddenly the plan sounds perfect. You could invite him back home afterwards. Show off your grand home. Get him comfortable on the loveseat. See if you can't defrost him a little.

"I guess," you say. "I'll give it a shot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So good news, I'll take less time with the next update. I'll try to have it up in a week, to make up for how I spent a month on the last two chapters. 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who left me a comment or anything like that, you are all angels, that is an actual fact approved by the scientific community.


	5. Chapter 5

This afternoon you are Karkat Vantas. And you are 100%, totally, probably in control of your emotions. Everything is fine and dandy. For sure. You are going to have some heat in your apartment, and that is going to be awesome, and is all that matters right now, out of all the things everywhere that you can think of. 

It is absolutely ok and not a problem that Eridan kisses you like you are a porcelain vase on display, and not a paid participant. It is fine that he uses pet names, and plays with your fingers while you sit together. It is fan-fucking-tastic that he looks at you expectantly, so that you have to remind yourself that his fetishes for intimacy are not your concern. 

You did some figures this morning, and you've made almost enough of off Eridan's tips for a space heater that will heat up your whole apartment instead of a square foot. If you scrimp, you'll be able to make up the difference out of your own money. Good, you say pointedly to yourself. Good, you need some heat, this is a perfectly legitimate reason to kiss a lonely cafe patron. 

And once you've got a heater, you think, it's not like you couldn't do with something nice to sit on, you regard your ass-eating couch as your arch nemesis. You would like nothing better than to recline in a cushy armchair while it sits alone, untouched, mocked by your negligence. Not to mention with some extra pocket money, you could buy your paperbacks guilt free. Yes, you conclude, just because you're reaching your heating goal does not mean you're done with Eridan. He can keep running his fingers over yours, trying his thick rings on your pinkies, and telling you he missed you. He can keep brushing his lips over the corner of your cheek before he reaches your mouth, and he can continue to smell musky and real for as long as he likes. He can run his tongue over your lips and teeth until the cows come home. You might even anchor him with your hands on the back of his neck, because you remember how he sucked on your lip for that yesterday evening. 

Great flaming balls, everything is not fine, you are in too deep. God help you. Do you have to stop? _No,_ no, you don't have to stop, you can handle it. You'll just pull back a little. Be professional. Get a hobby, take up chess, or stamp collecting, spend your time not thinking about Eridan. It'll work out, probably. 

You pointedly do not watch the door until Eridan comes. You are an attentive and wonderfully focused waiter and serve many satisfied customers because that is your job and you are a professional. Who does jobs professionally. 

When Eridan does arrive he's carrying a small pot of flowers. He puts them on his table, spilling some dirt, and looks at you expectantly. He is trying and failing not to smile. And oh joy, you catch yourself hoping the flowers are for you. You immediately tell yourself they had better not be. And then you have to remind yourself you are not supposed to care either way, and that he probably has just taken up gardening, and you try very hard to forget that you clearly do care. 

The flowers are pansies, and turn out to be for you. Your stomach jumps a little. Fuck. When he pushes the pot across the table towards you, you think very hard about fixing up your apartment, and how great not wearing sweaters indoors is. But like a chump, you end up imagining where you're going to put the pansies. 

"I was gonna cut you some flowers myself, as a matter a fact," Eridan is saying, "but I asked my friend about pickin from her garden and she got pretty stubborn pretty fast. And so I thought I'd get you somethin' growin', cause bouquets are overdone anyways, if you're askin. Do you like it?" 

You like it a lot. The flowers are small and thin, and you feel a kinship towards them. "They're nice," you say, as disinterestedly as you can. But then you feel shitty because he didn't have to get you flowers and you don't have to be a jerk about it, so you add, "thanks." 

"Well, you know, I could get you more a those," Eridan says, leaning his chin into his cupped palm. He says it with the expectation that you're not sure what to do with. "You could start a garden." 

You match his gaze, and it is tender and sappy, and you panic. Motherfuck, how did you think you could do this professionally. How did you think you could do this at all? No, it's ok, you've got this. But you need to draw the line and you need to draw it _now._ Now now now. Because, yeah, you could start a garden. It would be a garden full of excuses to pretend someone loves you. 

"I don't have a place for a garden," You say, stiffly as you can, taking your hands off the pot. "Just the pansies are fine." He looks put off, but you don't say anything else.

"You feelin' ok, Kar?" He asks. You give Eridan an eye, and he shrugs, smiles and says, "Only I'm pretty sure you haven't said one mean thing to me yet today. Does that mean you're ill?"

"It means you're a shitweasel," you say, and he laughs and says, 

"There you are, thought I'd lost you." He goes on, jumping from your bad mouth to a tangent of famous last words he has memorized. You suggest some rude options for his own last words, and he takes the bate and guesses your own. It's a nice conversation, easy and unassuming. 

And then he asks you out for a night. That's how he puts it, out for a night. "It'd be nice to spend some time with you, you know, alone," he says, and he puts his hand over yours on the table. Alarms begin to go off in your head. Because oh fucking no. You were setting boundaries, and everything was going to be good, and manageable. This wasn't going to happen, is this actually happening? Does Eridan have the balls to suggest you let him fuck you? Do you want him to fuck you? No, nope, oh sweet chafing jockstraps how did you not think this would happen. Your mouth is so dry, did you ever have saliva? 

"Nobody bothers us at the cafe," you say. 

"Kar, it's not the same," Eridan says, undeterred. His soft, well-lotioned fingers slide in between yours, long and slender. Nails perfectly manicured. His eyes are as beautiful and sharp as they've always been, and your stomach seems to shrivel as you recognize the familiar spell they put over you. It's the same one you gave in to when this started, and it's the same one you've let happen every day since. And it's not going to go away, you realize, and your throat clenches painfully. "I thought maybe I could take you out somewhere nice, and maybe after--" 

But you interrupt him with the fiercest "No," you can muster. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, and the adrenaline in your system feels like it's petrifying you. You are not going to do this. You are stupid to the moon and back for this hair-gel slathered shitstick, and that is why you are absolutely not going home with him. Fuck this and fuck you. Fuck Eridan, fuck this cafe, fuck Jade for talking you into this, fuck you again, fuck the pansies, fuck your apartment, fuck you, fuck your couch, fuck your feelings, and fuck you one more solid shit scraping time for good measure. And all of that with a splintering wooden table leg. Eridan looks taken aback, and you think, viciously, _good,_ and you hope anger will get you through this. 

"Well… is it… ha ha, uh… huh?" Eridan says, and you take your hand away from his and clench them on your elbows.

"No, I'm not going to go out for a _night_ with you," you say, as coolly as you can, but you're pretty sure it sounds angry. That's fine too. 

"But," Eridan says, and he looks entirely baffled. What an absolute cock, you can't believe such a mildewed cad is your downfall. "But, I thought…" 

"Eridan," you say, as reasonably as you can given the circumstances, "There is not enough money in the _fucking_ world. I can't do any of this anymore. I'm done." 

You stand up to punctuate your point. You try not to look at Eridan. You should just leave. leave the actual cafe and never come back. Quit your job, move, start a new life. But you stay and look at him anyways. It's the worst decision you've ever made. 

You expected indignation, anger, something. But Eridan just looks like you punched him in the gut. The first trickle of doubt seeps into your back, through your anger, cooling it with a sickening hiss of steam. He's got none of the regular defenses up, he's just looking at you like maybe you're still joking, and that kind of makes you feel like you've punched yourself in the gut. 

"Wh," he starts, before swallowing and continuing. Which is also comparable to being punched. "What does that mean?" 

"I mean don't come here anymore," you say. Your anger is gone, and you can't find it, which means this is infinitely harder than it was a minute ago.

"Enough money?" Eridan says, his thick eyebrows knitted and his cheeks colored

"Uh," you say uneasily, "yes."

"I di- I w- wasn't," he splutters, and then, "you w-," and then "enough _money?_ " His voice is much stronger, louder, and a couple heads turn. Something's up and you are absolutely certain you don't want to know what it is. You are ice cold as Eridan balls his fists and pushes himself up to your level. " Are you telling me _this,_ " he hisses, gesturing between the two of you, "was for my money?" 

He traps your gaze with his sharp eyes, and you don't understand anything. It's a long, teetering moment, watching his eyes flick back and forth between your own, before lead pulls your stomach to the floor because you think maybe, just maybe, you fucked up.

Apparently your silence is enough confirmation for Eridan. "I thought we were good!" He says. You're glad he isn't waiting for you to say anything, because your tongue feels glued to the back of your throat. "I thought we had something! I _thought,_ " he says, gulping a little, and you want to melt into the floor, "I thought you… I _love_ you!" He roars, and if you weren't the center of attention before, you are now, the whole cafe is quiet. You hear Jade asking someone if they're ready to order, and you feel a desperate gratitude towards her. Eridan is staring you down, furiously and emotionally, and you think you have never hated yourself more, because such a good, beautiful, godawful thing was right in your lap and it turns out you dumped it in the gutter, and stomped on it. Laughing. With muddy cleats. 

But you put the gun to your head and say, "What are you going to do, run home and pretend to kill me?" For a split second you think he's going to cry, and you're about ready to off yourself and donate the body to science so that maybe some good can come out of the toxic train wreck that is your entire being. But instead he becomes as fierce as a lightening storm. He rips out his wallet and pulls a clumsy handful of bills out of it, and slams them down onto the table. 

"For your _time,_ " he says. He keeps your eye contact, and his eyes are as uninviting as you've ever seen. It makes you think about how warm they always are in comparison. Someone should run you through with an electric egg beater. Eridan gives you a final hurt, angry moment before storming out of the door. You stay where you were, and wait until you hear the bell on the door behind you chime, and the restaurant's dull murmur start up again before you begin to clean up the table. There's dirt everywhere from the fucking planter of pansies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I said one week, I realize it's been two. My bad on that. 
> 
> Not depicted above is the actual best part of this fanfiction, in which eridan ampora lies facedown on a park bench and cries loudly into his phone until kanaya comes and picks him up.
> 
> EDIT hey check it out!! someone submitted some fanart http://poidkea.tumblr.com/post/81465267698/so-i-had-to-wait-until-i-got-to-a-scanner-to-send


	6. Chapter 6

You focus on your job for the rest of the day. At closing Jade claps you on the shoulder and gives you a hug, and you can't decide if you wanted that or not. But she doesn't say anything, and neither do you. You just put up the chairs and go home.

You cry that night, in the privacy of your murder closet apartment, curled stiffly over the dim flickering of your laptop. Long, hard, and silent.

But you after that, you don't cry anymore. You threw away sit-on-your-ass-crying benefits when you were born as the world's wrinkled asshole. You throw yourself miserably and ferociously into work at the cafe, making yourself useful for every wasted afternoon that you shoved your customers onto Jade. You're disgustingly hopeful every time you hear the bell on the door, although you know it will never be Eridan. Why would it be. He has nothing left here. You look up when the bell chimes anyways, and imagine ripping your heart out when it sinks every time.

You quickly give up trying not to think about Eridan. You see a lot of things you wish you could discuss with him, people making bad choices in the cafe that he probably would have scoffed at, and disgusting fashion choices he probably would have defended. Sometimes you remember stories you wanted to tell him. But mostly you dwell on being a sentient lump of earwax, one that maybe should have thought of sharing stories before becoming America's next top fuckwad.

When you're home you escape to your movies and pretend you're Drew Barrymore and Ryan Gosling, and that everything will work out if you build a house, or go to sleep and forget. You don't buy yourself a space heater.

It's three days later your dulling, monotonous self-hatred is interrupted. You're invited out to lunch by an old friend. She calls you out of the blue, you didn't even know she still had your number. You haven't talked to her since you were in high school. You never meant to lose touch, but you've never been very good at keeping ties. It's just so much easier to let people forget you. You say you'll meet her tomorrow, downtown.

The next day you almost don't go. You can't imagine she'd like the person you've become, and you're bundled under three blankets and seriously considering staying under them until the world forgets you and you starve. But you go after all. You don't deserve blankets. You deserve uncomfortable reintroductions to old acquaintances.

You end up glad you left your apartment. Kanaya is waiting for you at a table on the patio of a handsome bistro. She looks beautiful, and things seem better already. Because she looks like the years have done well for her. You remember how close you used to be with her, and the memories are the nicest thing you think you've felt in a year. You seize back up when she looks at you with wide eyes, and you try to remember if you put on a clean shirt this morning. You can't guarantee that you did.

"Karkat?" She greets you. You shrug.

"Yeah. Hi, Kanaya."

She gestures for you to sit down and says, "It's very good to see you." You nod, but can't think of what to say, so she continues for you. "I don't believe we've spoken since that dinner at the Olive Garden, I don't think I was 20 yet." She smiles, and you straighten your shirt the best you can.

"Yeah," you say, "I was 19, that was the year I worked at the gas station on central."

"I don't think I had a summer job that year," Kanaya says. "I'm fairly certain I didn't start working at the bookstore until the summer after sophomore year."

"A bookstore sounds nice," you say. "Did you like it there?"

"Very much," Kanaya says. "I had an employee discount and I abused it thoroughly. I worked there two summers. You know, I actually met my girlfriend there."

"I didn't know you were dating anyone," you say, but you feel stupid because of course you didn't know, you haven't spoken to her since before then. You correct yourself. "I mean, I'm happy for you. You're still together?"

Kanaya smiles warmly and shows you her left hand. An unassuming silver band sits comfortably on her finger. "We're getting married." She's beaming, and you wonder if you should feel jealous, but you just feel like her happiness is soaking into you and you're so glad someone could have this, and you're glad that it's Kanaya.

"That's wonderful," you say, and you hope she can tell you mean it.

"Thank you, Karkat."

"It's really good to see you, Kanaya," you say. "I'm glad you called me."

"I am, too," she says. "I was reminded of you recently, and I thought I ought to talk to you."

"Oh," you say. "Huh."

"This might seem a little silly, if I'm off the mark, but do you might answering a question of mine?" Kanaya asks, and you tell her to go ahead. "Do you know a man named Eridan Ampora?"

All the relief you'd felt at Kanaya's blessedly easy reentrance into your life evaporates, and you try your damnedest to keep your face still. It seems disappointingly fitting that your blundering incompetence should permeate every aspect of your life. Why should you have this solace? Of course Kanaya knows how you steamrollered Eridan, karma would allow nothing else. So you don't lie. "Yeah," you say, heart stubbornly in your throat. "He, uh, used to go to the restaurant I work at these days."

"Oh, Karkat," Kanaya says, and she sighs unhappily. She knows, she knows. "Tell me you aren't the Karkat I've been hearing about."

"That depends on what you've heard," you say, but she knows you mean yes, because you can't look at her.

"Oh, no, _Karkat._ " Kanaya groans again. You're not entirely sure you haven't heard enough of your name sighed disappointedly, but you know you can't do anything. "What happened?"

"A lot happened, a bunch of stuff fucking happened, but lo, things have now stopped happening, as things tend to do," you say. "Here is a great idea, a remarkable innovation, let's not talk about it." But she prompts you again, and it's too easy to fall back into familiarity with her cajoling, so you tell her. In more detail than you're proud of.

You finish your story flatly, and Kanaya runs a hand through her hair, looking at you frustratedly. "Karkat, you-"

"Fucked up, yes, thank you," you finish for her, and she purses her lips.

"You did a little." You don't bat an eye. "This whole thing is fucked up. And do you know what the worst part is?"

"Uh," you say. Me? "What?"

"The worst part is that I think you love him! And somehow this is still happening!"

"I don't love him," you say, and she makes another frustrated noise so you say, "I don't know. Don't put me on the spot."

"Karkat, I'm designing the wedding dresses for my Fiancé and I."

"Oh," You say, thrown off by the change of subject.

"It's a lot of work, and I have a lot of things to organize besides the dresses. I'm sure you've heard, weddings can be very stressful."

"Uh, yes, I have."

"Eridan Ampora has not left me alone once since you dumped him. Literally all I have heard is about you. If I refuse to be at his house, he will show up at my doorstep with a new wave of miseries, and Eridan does not like divided attentions."

You know he doesn't, and it makes you a little sick because you miss him and it's so dumb. Kanaya continues, angrier. "I'm sorry you were the one on the other side of this disaster, Karkat, but how could you just leave things the way they are? Did he tell you about Feferi? He isn't going to forget about you for a long time yet, Karkat, and that's because you couldn't just call him up and apologize."

  
"Kanaya," you say heavily, "Eridan wouldn't take me back if I got on my knees and begged."

"That is straight bullshit," Kanaya says, "Eridan wants to leap into your arms, heart first, and I cannot believe that you love him and yet you're lying around in yesterday's shirt telling yourself you've done everything you can."

You don't think she's right. You remember how Eridan looked at you very clearly, with his sharp eyes cold after you'd insulted him the one last time. He hates you. And with good reason. But you don't know what to say to convince Kanaya of this. So you just look at her.

After a minute of silence, she takes out a pen and a pad of paper from her purse, scribbles on it, and hands you an address. "This is where Eridan lives," she says, and she closes her bag. "Karkat, please fix this, I need the peace, Eridan needs the peace, and god knows you need the peace." She stands up.

"Do you have to go?" You ask, and you don't know if you're relieved or not.

"Yes," she says. "It was nice to see you. I'd like to see you again soon. But I think maybe now is a good time for me to get some work done."

She leaves with that, and even if you'd been able to get a last word in, you don't know what you would have said. You stay at the bistro and have lunch by yourself, the note with Eridan's Address on the table beside you.

\- - -

When you get home you take a shower. You find some clean clothes, put them on, and throw the piles of rumpled shirts on the floor in a bag to take to the coin laundromat on the corner. In fact, you'll go now. Forgetting Sarah Marshall can wait.

The walk to the corner is short, and you toss the contents of your bag unceremoniously in the nearest free washer. You feed five coins into the machine, and then step outside. You sit outside the laundromat while your laundry tumbles around in the wash, and you trace the edges of Eridan's address in your hands. You're not sure if you meant to bring the slip of paper with you or not, but it's with you now.

You don't feel like hoping. It's unlikely anything could come out of confronting Eridan. He won't want to see you. If he's as upset as Kanaya says he is, fuck, he probably really has fantasized up ways to kill you. The thought of Eridan really wanting you dead makes you a little desperate, so you push it back down. That would just be too much. Besides, he wouldn't, he never wanted Feferi dead. And you know he loved her a lot.

Feferi was never as bad as you, though. She was probably an angel. You're more like a white spot of mold growing on a bagel that was being saved in the cupboard for breakfast. Feferi probably never pretended she meant to break his heart. You picture for the millionth time Eridan's face just before he paid you and left, when you thought he would cry. You hope that isn't what Kanaya sees all day.

For the first time, you very heavily regret actively pushing Eridan away. You didn't need to drive the last nail into the coffin. You could have, I don't know, tried to apologize? Maybe at least shut the master switch down on your great automatic maw? Why do you have to be so hard to talk to? Do you _have_ to be such a piece of shit? It's like it's programmed into you, be as mean as possible, to as many people as possible. And hey, if against all odds they stick around, treat them like they're jerks for it.

And you know why you do it, too, is the worst part. It's because you're too _fucking_ scared that people don't want you around, so you assume they don't from the start and then inevitably, it ends up the truth. You're so fucking worthless, you're a perpetual machine that makes itself more and more worthless as it chugs on. And may a great armored bear claw through your neck, you know Kanaya's right about something. You know you haven't done everything you could do.

It's too much to assume Eridan will forgive you, and nor should he, but you'll knock on his fucking door like a chump, and at least let him know… something. Let him know you didn't mean everything to happen so badly. It'll be like gingerly prodding stitches with an operating chainsaw. And then, once the deed is done, you can wash your hands of this and maybe try to be less of a festering, lice-ridden ass in general.

You check your watch, and go back into the building to rotate your clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow did I update within a reasonable amount of time?? what? I don't believe you 
> 
> so I split up the last chapter because there was more than I thought there was. Good news, the second half is written already, and I'll post it pretty soon. It just needs a little work first. 
> 
> kisses to all of you, thank you for your continued support and like wow if you have left me comments you can bet I seriously considered a marriage proposal.


	7. Chapter 7

You kick yourself out the door the next night. It's pretty late when you collect yourself and leave, because you can't go until after you return home from your closing shift at the cafe. Public transportation is a nightmare, as always. And then you have to circle a long block a couple times on foot because it just doesn't click that the grand mansion behind a great paved driveway is Eridan's house. But it's the address Kanaya gave you, so you cut across the wide green lawn and knock, and try very hard not to regret anything. It's like trying to fart glitter. It's probably too late to be visiting politely, anyways. Who shows up unannounced at practically midnight? You should have waited, this was such a bad idea. But you keep yourself on the doorstep. 

You don't know the man who opens the door. "Ampora residence," he says, like an answering machine. Is he hired help? Does Eridan have a butler? Great dangling gonads. 

"Is Eridan home?" you ask, and you hope you sound like you don't give a shit if Eridan has ten butlers. You're invited to step inside, and the strange, butler-reminiscent man leaves up a very grand set of stairs in the entrance hall with the promise of retrieving Eridan. You are absolutely in awe and brimming with expletives at the grandiosity of everything in this hall. The ceiling is so high, and everything seems like it's marble, and there's a chandelier. Are you allowed to swear in here? Will they grab you by your collar and kick you to the curb, and then dust off their white gloves? It doesn't seem so farfetched. 

There's a small bench, but it's so dainty that you're sure it's ornamental, and as mind-numbingly inane as an ornamental bench is, you are not here to rub hairs the wrong way. So you stand, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, until you hear footsteps, and Eridan's voice complaining familiarly about visitors not calling first. 

You considered calling, but frankly you thought he'd refuse to see you. 

You feel like you were correct in that assumption when he catches sight of you, waiting at the foot of the stairs. "Carol," he says, "Thank you, you can go." The butler, Carol, apparently, nods politely and walks down the stairs, past you, and away. Eridan stays where he is, halfway up the wide marble staircase, dressed in some asshole purple robe that he looks frustratingly magnificent in. 

"Well," he says, and he crosses his arms. 

When he doesn't say anything else, you say, "Hi, Eridan." 

There's more silence. It's uncomfortable and tense, conversation with Eridan has never been this hard before. He looks as well as ever, and you genuinely hope your own mental state isn't affecting your appearance. You're about to give up and go home, because you don't think you can do this after all, when Eridan bursts out with "You've got some nerve!" 

You swallow. "Yeah," you say. "I guess I do." 

"I can't even _believe_ you," Eridan says, and you shrug. God, you can feel yourself trying to worm out of the emotional confrontation. Fuck, fuck. Ok, you fake-ass relationship guru, head out of your ass and brace yourself, go time is now. 

"Can we talk?" You say. Eridan does not look like he wants to talk. 

But you are going to _fucking talk._ Eridan does not actually have a say. You were just shitting him to be civil. You start up the stairs. Eridan's frown deepens almost ferociously, but he doesn't move. Thank god he loves attention. 

"I got nothin to say to you," Eridan says. "An' I don't know what you think you've got to say to me." 

"I just wanted to tell you," you say, but he interrupts. 

"An' on top a that, I don't see why I gotta listen to anythin you have to say!" 

This couldn't just be easy, of course. "Listen anyways," you say, but he's still talking. 

"Kar you right up and broke my heart, did you know that? Hit and run, left me lyin' on the concrete! You oughta be fuckin _honored_ I haven't kicked you straight outta my house yet! And if you think you're gonna get a cent outta me tonight, you've got another thing comin! And,-"

"Listen anyways!" You roar. That shuts him right up. And thank fuck, this is so fucking hard, you don't need him ripping your wounds wider. 

"I'm waiting," he says tersely. And you dig in your back pocket to pull out the wad of cash you rubber banded together before leaving your house tonight. It's everything you put in your heating can. You didn't count it, but you'd never taken any money out of it before, so you figure it's more or less everything he's tipped you. You shove the wad of bills in his direction, rougher than you meant to. 

"Here," you say. He doesn't take it, so you shake your hand in his face until he snatches the money away. "It's everything you tipped me," you explain. "I'm sorry things happened so badly. And that I hurt you. It wasn't the plan. Instead of the plan, I was a huge wad. But, uh, now you have your money back." 

Eridan doesn't look at the money in his hand. But he's not yelling anymore. Can you just leave it at this? Will he get what you mean with just the apology? Does he need to get it, really? Yes, ok, that's what you came here to do, time to spell it out. 

He's staring at you in this forlorn confusion. God, he lets his defenses so far down. Some kind soul like Kanaya should teach him better. You are fiercely glad he has Kanaya to look after him. Alright, sleeves up around the elbows. "I really liked having you around," you say. "I know I never said anything, the ball was in my court and I dropped it off a fucking cliff. So I'm sorry. For fucking things up. For…" you gesture at his hand, his fingers curled around the money you returned. "For kissing you and everything." 

No, ugh, now he looks awful. You can't handle this, he looks like you stepped on him. Again. "Don't look like that," you say, because you don't know what else to say. "Don't…" God, you're losing it. Ok. Composure. You run a hand through your hair and clear your throat. "Here's the thing," you say. "I like you a lot. I know I'm dancing around it, but I like you… like… a fuckton. You make me feel… less like a waste. And I fucked it up, I mean, I didn't know you, uh, liked me too. I thought we were on the same page. But, uh, obviously we weren't."

"Kar," Eridan starts, but you wave at him to let you finish, and mercifully he shuts up. 

"That's why I'm here," you say, "to put us on the same page before I leave. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry, and that I liked you, too, I was just too much of a stale turd to work things out right." That sums it up, you think. You pull your chin up and give him one last sturdy look, because your job is done here. 

"What, you mean it?" Eridan says, like you could have fabricated something that asinine, and you say, 

"Honest to whatever half-assed deity would waste its time tending to a wreck like me." You wait a moment, and when he doesn't say anything, you figure it's time to leave. You're done with this, and very ready to be alone for an extended amount of time. You turn and begin down the staircase. 

"Kar, wait," Eridan says. You don't want to, frankly. But he catches up to you and grabs your shoulder, so you do. God help you, you can feel a little hope, like the tail end of a chest cold you can't get out of your lungs And Eridan says, " _Really_ really? I mean, but why…?" 

"What do you want from me," you say, "want me to testify in court? Yes, really, why the ever-loving fuck would I be all the way out here at your marble palace under your sparkling godawful chandelier, on my scabby knees, trying to actually _communicate_ with a talking, breathing barnacle in fake glasses!" 

"Well, only, with you so grumpy all the time, it doesn't sound like any affection I know," Eridan says, so easily, like he'd tease you every afternoon. But are not going to play this game right now. You shove his chest and say, 

"It's all the goddamn affection I have, and I'm wasting it all on you, on a glorified photocopy of a preteen fashion rag."

Eridan holds up the roll of bills you gave him. "Thanks," he says.

"Don't mention it," you say. 

"Do you want to stay a little longer?" He says. 

Oh no, you are going to cough up all of your gross lung-hope. All over Eridan and his nice fucking purple robe, it's monogrammed and everything. He'll realize how disgusting you are and all this stay-a-little-longer shit will be gone. But, on the other hand, fuck it. "Really?" You say. 

"Do you want me to testify in court?" 

"Yes, ok, hilarious, but I mean…" you cast around for a way to sum this up. "I'm kind of a jerk." 

Eridan shrugs. "I've heard I'm a shithead." You look at the floor so he can't see if you smile, because wow if he wants to put this behind you, you're on board. "Plus," Eridan says, a little nervously, "I mean, if you want to give it another go…"

There it goes, all your immovable hope phlegm, exploding everywhere and generally getting on everything.

"I want that," you say, but you say it very quietly and to the floor, so that if your voice cracks, he won't hear. 

"God, Kar," Eridan says quietly, kind of reverently. It's a tone of voice you missed more than you remembered. "I'm really glad I like you so much, or I don't know how I'd deal with you." 

You laugh nervously and chance a look up at him. You're waiting for the scale to tip one way or the other, because you're not sure you get to have this. Is there a second chance for you, or is this another shitty prank, with best regards, the universe? 

Eridan takes one of your hands in his. They're familiar and wonderful, warm and soft, long and thin, bejeweled and manicured. You think maybe you're in love after all. That would make an unfortunate amount of sense. "Kar, will you be my official, actual, real-life not-fake boyfriend?" Eridan says, and you put aside what a dork he is to let the scale finally fall, with a hot, heavy clunk, towards Eridan loving you. 

It feels _amazing._

"Yeah," you say, "I want to. Real-life and not-fake at all." 

Eridan beams at you and it's so familiar, but entirely different, because you _believe_ it. And instead of making you uneasy it just picks you right up, and you don't feel like you have to support your own weight. You dive up to kiss him, and he bends to meet you halfway, and for once in your life, you feel like you're not messing anything up at all. He pulls you right up against him and holds you there, and he smells like Eridan and tastes like Eridan but it's like you've never kissed him before, because you get to keep him. He gets to keep you. You laugh a little into Eridan's mouth, and for whatever shitty reason, that sets him off laughing too. He sinks down onto the stairs, and you follow him, and you laugh at the absurdity. Imagine, at the end of it all, you win. You don't know if you're laughing for the irony or for the sheer relief of Eridan's wiry arms, but everything just seems so funny. You lean into Eridan's chest and feel him move with his laughter. 

"I'd like to spend a night with you," you say to his shirt, once you've calmed down. "If that offer's still valid." 

"I'll never want to close that offer on you, Kar," he says. He kisses your hair. It's small and sweet. 

"We can get dinner," you say, "we'll go dutch." 

"We could go stargazing," Eridan say, "won't cost a cent." 

"You are a hopeless romantic and will get nowhere in life," you say, and he laughs again. 

"Alright Kar, I happen to know for an absolute fact that you are twice as bad as I am, so don't give me any a that horse shit. I got a balcony upstairs and blankets in the linen closet, and it ain't even quite midnight, are you in or out?" 

All the stars I need are in your eyes, you think to yourself, but embarrassment slaps you in the face so you tone it down to, "Yeah, ok, show me the stars."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, so we're done. Took me a literal six months to get out 14,000 words, but it's finished now. (and bless everyone who stuck with me despite how short and far between and always at 2am my updates were.) Man, when I started this I wasn't sure I'd have the drive to get to the end. Thanks to everyone who nudged me along or encouraged me, you're all wonderful, and I know most of these chapter endings say shit like that but seriously, thanks. 
> 
> On another note, if you're interested, the title 'you part the waters' is after CAKE's song from motorcade of generosity. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4GipuFu6uU) It was much more heavily connected to the fanfiction back when I was brainstorming it for fun, because the story was much more about the wealth gap at first. Now it's just about karkat having a lot of feelings. Which is ok too. 
> 
> thanks again, it's been real


End file.
